


Farewell

by tadok0ro



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Drabble, M/M, Pastfic, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 15:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16663810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tadok0ro/pseuds/tadok0ro
Summary: Rastakhan sees Zul off before he sails away for the Cataclysm.





	Farewell

"Be sure to write often," Rastakhan says, his smile stiff around his tusks and posture formal. 

 

Zul watches as one of his followers trips over a saurid, dropping the supplies they were carrying all over the dock before tearing his gaze back to the king. He's as tall and as flashy as ever, sticking out like a sore thumb among the fishmongers and crewmen bustling all around them. 

It’s been weeks since he last saw Rastakhan, but now that he’s here in front of him again, the feelings he’d dutifully packed away came roaring back with full force, a maelstrom within his very core.

 

_ Weeks of frustration boiling his blood. Weeks of sifting through visions, clawing desperately at any threads that held promise. Weeks of preparation and planning. Weeks of tending to his wounded heart. _

 

Rastakhan's forced smile morphs into a grimace at Zul’s silence.

 

“You… did pack supplies to write?” 

 

Zul swallows the lump of bitter words lodged in his throat and nods.

 

“Yes, I have.” Zul straightens up, clasping his hands behind his back just to keep them from curling into fists at his sides. He's seen a hundred different versions of this conversation play out and none of them satisfying. None of them ever changed Rastakhan’s mind. “And I will write often.”

 

_ ‘You won't,’  _ a helpful spirit whispers in Zul’s ear. 

 

Rastakhan lets out a breath as if he'd been holding it the entire time, shoulders relaxing as he chuckles. 

 

“Good… that is good!” He scratches his head, the entirety of his ridiculous headdress swaying with the motion. “I did not doubt you for a moment.” They both know that is not true.

 

They lapse into silence again, both standing stiffly on the precipice of action.

 

“My prophet,” a troll, one of Zul’s followers, scurries up, “the supplies are on board and we are ready to set off.” He salutes Zul with respect before ducking away, back towards the ship. 

 

Zul unclasps his hands, shoulders relaxing at the prospect of finally leaving. 

 

“Well Rastakhan, I-”

 

“Zul, I-”

 

He's seen this conversation hundreds of times, but Rastakhan’s voice still tugs his heartstrings as easily as ever.

 

“Zul, I wish…” he reaches out as if to cup Zul’s cheek in his hand, but pauses midway and rests it on Zul’s shoulder instead. “I wish things could have been different.” 

 

Zul hates how his body still reacts, still sings, at Rastakhan's touch, even when his mind reels with disgust. 

 

_ “Things  _ could  _ have been different,”  _ he wants to spit back, but that thread led to arguing, wasted time more effort than it was worth.

 

“This was always our fate,” Zul says. He's not sure if it's true himself, but he’s found it’s the only thing he could ever say to soothe the sting of his prophecies. 

 

Rastakhan nods, solemn as he swallows the lie with ease. 

 

“Return safely,” Is all Rastakhan offers.

 

But there is no return for Zul. No return to a land that would be naught but sea soon, with Rastakhan sunk beneath the waves along with everyone else. 

 

“I must be going now,” Zul says, stepping away, letting Rastakhan’s hand drop from his shoulder. 

 

With a swift turn, the threads tie off, cascading into the past as Zul marches forward towards the ships. 

 

 


End file.
